


(Un)Broken

by likethedirection



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Asexual Castiel, Asexual Supernatural Week 2014, Bisexual Dean Winchester, Bunker Fic, Established Relationship, Good Brother/Troll Sam Winchester, M/M, Self-Discovery, figuring out relationship dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-13
Updated: 2014-09-13
Packaged: 2018-02-17 06:17:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2299505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/likethedirection/pseuds/likethedirection
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tries to explain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	(Un)Broken

**Author's Note:**

> Quick ("quick") oneshot thingy I hammered out for Asexual Supernatural Week on Tumblr. Unbeta'd, probably could stand a few more drafts and refining, but it's the last day of Ace!SPN Week and my inner perfectionist is sleeping in. :)

1.

He tries to explain.

Dean’s frown has lasted fifteen minutes now, and Castiel feels a kinship with his bewilderment, but finds it frustrating that Dean, who understands so much that Castiel does not, can’t seem to grasp this fact.

“Look,” Dean said at first, too casual because he was hurt, “if you’ve changed your mind about,” an awkward flap of his hand between the two of them, but mostly in his own direction, “then just say so.  I’m not gonna go crying into my butter-brickle over it.  No harm, no foul.”  Except Castiel could see in the tense line of his back that he was harming himself already.

Castiel took his hand and assured him that wasn’t the case at all, and he hasn’t let go since.  It’s nice, holding his hand.  It’s nice that even though he doesn’t understand, Dean hasn’t let go.

“Look, I’m trying here, Cas.  I’m hearing you.  I’m just not...so you want you and me to be, y’know.”  Another vague hand gesture.  “But no sex.  And you’re not that into kissing.  But that’s not the same as being what we were before, even though that’s...basically what we were before.  You want to be _something_ , but you don’t want me touching you.”

“I enjoy your touch very much.”  Dean blinks at him, looking doubly lost, and Castiel sighs, losing his nerve.  He shakes his head.  “I’m not articulating this well.  Perhaps it will just...take time,” he says, and it’s a lie, and he’s truly terrible at those, and Dean sees it.

“Okay.  Okay, just...let’s just feel it out, okay?” Dean says uncertainly.  “You don’t want me doing something, say the word, I don’t do it.  Cut and dry.  I mean, I’m not gonna just--”

“I know you won’t,” Castiel says, brushing his thumb over Dean’s fingers.  “I just...wanted you to be aware.”

“Yeah,” Dean says softly, still looking troubled, and Castiel brings his fingers to his lips.

“Thank you for listening,” he says, and nothing is truly clear.  But Dean doesn’t let go, and for now, that is enough.

 

2.

He tries to write it out.  At first he free-writes in Enochian, to express his thoughts in their purest form.  Then he translates, because Dean doesn’t speak Enochian.

Human dialects, he finds, are rather unwieldy when it comes to speaking truths.

After an hour of writing and frowning and crossing-out and writing and frowning, Castiel has made a complete mess of a page in the journal Sam gave him for Christmas.  Looking at it inspires intense dissatisfaction.

 

_angels are wavelengths, intimacy meant presence, I craved your presence as angel and as ~~whatever I am now~~ non-angel, craving another is love? ~~or obsession~~ no_

 

_not “angel thing,” me-thing, ~~perhaps I am broken~~_

 

_love as reflection of Father’s love, entirely separate entity from sexual desire_

 

_infinite expressions and facets of love, sex is one star in all the universe of possibilities_

 

_Dean you are beautiful, also aesthetically pleasing ~~he will think this is a joke~~_

 

_I want to be near you always and share in your joy and soothe your grief and I want to wrap around you and be your comfort and your shield and your wings. ~~Can that be enough~~_

~~_  
_~~

_I am not drawn to kissing but I am drawn to what a kiss means if you give it to me.  Trust ~~even though I lost my right to~~ , fondness, comfort, reminder that not alone, love even for the bacteria in your mouth and the oils in your skin, love of your fingers because they are yours and with them you have fought but also held those you care for, protected, built, reached for what you could not have again, dug out from your own grave, and so I kiss them because they are yours and all that is yours is beautiful._

_Dean out of all the creatures in all the worlds and all the millennia I have lived you are the most precious_

_(when I look at you I do not think of your body’s possibilities but of this.)_

He closes the journal and sighs, and he wonders if he is alone.

 

3.

He tries to reassure Dean and himself by touching him when he can.  When Sam is there, Castiel keeps it respectfully subtle, brushing Dean’s back as he passes by or leading him to the next room by the hand.  It still catches Dean a bit off-guard, but affection has always seemed to surprise him just as surely as it has always surprised Castiel.  Despite that, Dean fights smiles, and he’ll lace their fingers on top of the table in between their open books, and he’ll rest his knee against Castiel’s, and it’s wonderful.

Castiel takes a few more liberties when they’re alone.  They once while away an hour sitting on Dean’s bed, Dean’s head drooping blissfully while Castiel runs a hand across his shoulders and down his back, circling between his shoulderblades, sliding up to the nape of his neck and into his hair, back down to gently knead his shoulders, and on and on while Castiel murmurs to him of Heaven.  His Heaven, his place, emerald grass and soul-blue sky and the kite, poppy-red and soaring.

Dean kisses him when he’s done, languid and chaste with one hand against Castiel’s cheek, and Castiel smiles at him after because he knows what it means.

Seeming to take the smile as encouragement, Dean leans back in for another.  It’s nice as well, and Dean’s hand drops to Castiel’s waist and Dean’s lips part a little, and Castiel knows how this is supposed to work, so he parts his own to fit them and thinks it’s nice that Dean is feeling affectionate toward him, and it’s nice that Dean finds him beautiful.

Dean pulls back a bit and whispers, “Okay?” and Castiel wants to press his forehead to Dean’s brow and feel Dean’s arms around his back, and to lie down like that and stroke Dean’s hair while Dean strokes his spine until one of them falls asleep.

He doesn’t know how to tell Dean that, so he nods.

Dean’s smile is so pleasantly surprised, after such uncertainty, that Castiel feels he may have just made a poor choice.

He tries.  He opens his mouth when Dean’s tongue slides along the seam of his lips, and he isn’t entirely sure what to do with someone else’s tongue in his mouth, even if it is a tongue he cares deeply for because it is Dean’s.  It’s...wet.  But he tries.  Dean’s hand stroking his hip feels pleasant.  His hands float tentatively to Dean’s sides and rest there.

He lasts until Dean shifts and starts easing them down, going onto his back and coaxing Castiel on top of him, chest-to-chest.  It’s considerate of him, because Dean is and always has been considerate to his lovers, and Castiel thinks, _Perhaps._  Dean is allowing him control, which means he can slow it down - he’s feeling ready to not have an extra tongue in his mouth now - and maybe he can just do this for a while, kiss Dean, just horizontally.  But then his leg brushes something by Dean’s thigh, and something in Castiel tenses, and that line of thought just...ends.  He should not allow this to go further when Dean is feeling something that he is not.

Castiel backs off the kisses and pulls away, too soon for Dean, he can tell, and tries to reassure him by cupping Dean’s jaw and brushing a thumb against his cheek.  “Dean,” he says, suddenly feeling foolish and having difficulty lifting his eyes.  He doesn’t want to see Dean’s disappointment.  “I--thank you.  But.”

Dean swallows hard and gets his breath.  “Too much,” he mumbles, and Castiel says, “I’m sorry.”

Dean exhales.  “No, hey.”  His hand returns to Castiel’s cheek, and he coaxes his eyes back up.  Dean looks at him with the immovable resolve he’s always had, and in Castiel’s memory he whispers, _Cursed or not._  “No, this is how this should go, okay?  You don’t like something, you shut me down, got it?  It’s okay,” he says, and Castiel loves him beyond reason.

He drops his forehead to Dean’s, and Dean’s arms wind around him and hold him, and something in him releases like a sigh, and this is all he wanted.  “Understand,” he murmurs, “that my greatest joy is being with you.  But in my fantasies and in my dreams, it looks like this.”

He brushes Dean’s cheek again to illustrate his meaning, and Dean lowers his eyes, thinking.  Trying.

A moment, and Dean smiles for him, faintly.  “Your wish is my command.”

Hours later, Dean murmurs into the dark, “I’m trying, Cas.  I get...I get that it’s real, okay?  I’m just not…”  A sigh.  “I’m trying.”

“I know,” Castiel murmurs into his hair.  “I’m trying, too.  I’m trying to want it.”

Dean pulls his head out from under Castiel’s chin and looks at him for a long while, then says, “Stop trying.”

Castiel frowns at him, and Dean says, “Want what you want.  Don’t want what you don’t want.  If you’ve got to make yourself want something, newsflash, you probably don’t actually want it.”

The words are mostly kind, but his tone is growing snappish, as it does when he’s preparing himself for rejection.  Castiel sighs, because they have been over this.

“Your sexual prowess is one piece of you, Dean, out of millions.  I appreciate that part of you, but I have nowhere to put it.  But all of those other pieces, every other part of you, will always have a home here.”  Dean swallows hard, his eyes flashing vulnerable the way they do when he begins to beat himself down, and Castiel tightens his grip and says firmly, “All of you.  Always.”

Dean is quiet for a long moment, then lowers his eyes, and Castiel wonders when Dean will believe him.  “Early morning tomorrow,” Dean mumbles as he fits himself back against Castiel’s body.  Castiel shelves the conversation and strokes Dean’s hair until he sleeps.

 

4.

He tries not to eavesdrop, but he is always aware of Dean's voice, and he heard his name.

Dean doesn't often go in Sam's room other than to scoff at his bare walls, but they are both behind the closed door, talking quietly.  Castiel wonders who cornered whom.

"--can't take it personally, Dean," Sam is saying, calming and careful.  "It's a real thing.  I think up to one perce--"

"Yeah, yeah, one percent of the population, you think I haven't looked it up?" Dean says crossly, and Castiel is confused but touched.  He does not know what "it" is.  He hopes it is not a disease, though if it is, perhaps there is a cure.

"I'm just saying, Cas is figuring something out, and he deserves to be taken as seriously as we'd take Charlie.  Or you."

A beat.  “Taken seriously.”

“Yes.”

“You baked me a cake.”

“I did do that.”

“It had pink on it.”

“Bi Pride flags have pink on them.”

“It said ‘Use Protection,’ in glitter frosting.  With a smiley face.”

Castiel remembers this cake.  It was a good cake.

“That was a good cake,” Sam says wistfully, and sighs.  "Look, I'm not going to give you sex advice.  Or, uh, a-sex advice.  You're my brother and I love you, but my life has been traumatic enough.”

"Oh, boo freakin' hoo.  You're fine."

"But you seriously can't take it as a reflection on you, all right?  This isn't about you, it's about Cas.  He's the Superman of this story.  You're Lois Lane."

Dean groans.  "Kill me now."

"What's your problem, anyway?  Are you telling me you don't want him if he won't have sex with you?"

"No!" Dean says immediately, and Castiel breathes.  "Yeah, I'm an ass, but Jesus."

"You're not--Dean, you're making this harder than it needs to be.  Just support him.  Be there for him.  You're good at that, okay?"

"The hell I am," Dean mutters, and Sam sighs.  Castiel imagines him looking heavenward.  "Sam, every time I've touched him, his life has gone to shit.  Every time.  Even in _fake futures_ , I've ruined him.  I don't blame him for not wanting it now.  Makes a whole lot more sense to me than him being--"

"Lois.  Shut up."

"Don't freaking call me that."

"Every time you make this about you being a terrible, awful person instead of about Cas being _his own_ person, I'm calling you Lois.  Lois."

"I will kick your ass," Dean groans, but rather than the sound of kicking, there is a rustling and a thump.  Muffled, as though from underneath something, Dean says, "I will kick your ass so hard."

"From under the pillow?  Have fun.  I'm going to check in with Jody."

Castiel moves away from the door and continues down the hall, though he can still hear them bickering as he goes.  

"Holy _shit_ , did this come off your _head?_ "

"Shut up, Dean."

"This, right here, is officially chick-hair.  This is not okay."

"Shut _up_ , Lois."

"Sleep with one eye open, She-ra.  Me and my clippers are coming for you."

It’s nice, listening to them, and it keeps Castiel’s thoughts from weighing themselves down as he opens Dean’s laptop to find out what it is that affects one percent of the human population.

 

5.

He tries to be angry at Dean for reading his journal page.  He tries very hard.

It’s his own fault.  Tearing the page out to compare with what he saw on the page for the Asexual Visibility and Education Network was his own choice, and his failure to notice it slipping off the desk as he set it down - preoccupied, at the time, with answering Sam’s call for help with grocery-bags - was his own oversight.  

Dean cherishes his home and works diligently to ensure its upkeep.  It was inevitable that he would pick up a paper curled under the table, and just as inevitable that he would spy his own name in Castiel’s handwriting and wonder.

Castiel is embarrassed that anyone has laid eyes on his half-formed thoughts.  He knows this is embarrassment, because he wants to hunch into himself and hide, and his stomach is doing strange things.  He would also very much like to be angry.

Except Dean has written back.

There was a post-it note on top: _Found this when cleaning, saw my name. Sorry. Got some things to say though. If it’s bad, you can kick my ass when Sam & me are back ok? -D_

Underneath the note were two pages.  On top was Castiel’s.  There is writing in the margins.

 

_angels are wavelengths, intimacy meant presence, I craved your presence as angel and as ~~whatever I am now~~ non-angel, craving another is love? ~~or obsession~~ no_

**_Makes sense (it’s ok if you’re obsessed, I might be too a little bit) (it’s ok that you’re the only thing like you too, that’s actually pretty badass)_ **

_not “angel thing,” me-thing, ~~perhaps I am broken~~_

**_Not broken.  I like you-things_ **

_love as reflection of Father’s love, entirely separate entity from sexual desire_

**_I get it but where’s the line??  Your line, not like the universe’s line_ **

_infinite expressions and facets of love, sex is one star in all the universe of possibilities_

**_Ooh, talk poet to me babe_ **

_Dean you are beautiful, also aesthetically pleasing ~~he will think this is a joke~~_

**_Only cause you worded it all cute. But you’re wrong_ **

_I want to be near you always and share in your joy and soothe your grief and I want to wrap around you and be your comfort and your shield and your wings. ~~Can that be enough~~_

**_~~I want you to be that t~~   ~~I lo~~  Yes. Ok?  All the above yes_ **

_I am not drawn to kissing but I am drawn to what a kiss means if you give it to me.  Trust ~~even though I lost my right to~~ , fondness, comfort, reminder that not alone, love even for the bacteria in your mouth and the oils in your skin, love of your fingers because they are yours and with them you have fought but also held those you care for, protected, built, reached for what you could not have again, dug out from your own grave, and so I kiss them because they are yours and all that is yours is beautiful._

**_~~Dude bacteria?? why~~   ~~Shit Cas~~_ **

_Dean out of all the creatures in all the worlds and all the millennia I have lived you are the most precious_

_(when I look at you I do not think of your body’s possibilities but of this.)_

**_Cas: You’re not broken. You’re not lacking, you’re not less. You’re weird and nerdy and goofy and badass. I don’t deserve all that. But if you want me, whatever way you want me, you’ve got me. Don’t think sex or no sex changes that. -D_ **   
  
**_P.S. sorry about the brothel that one time it was stupid_ **

 

Castiel has read it too many times, and he needs to set it down and take a moment.  On second thought, he is angry.  He is angry that Dean waited to sneak this into his room until he knew he and Sam would be gone, rather than being here so Castiel can take his hands.

That failing, Castiel picks up the second page.  Dean seems to have followed his example.

 

_Ok don’t expect much, I’m shit at this._

_touch is hard_

_it's ~~always~~ been for a purpose ~~since everyone stopped~~ since Mom_

_reward for good behavior, or for not-dying-but-almost, or as a stepping stone to sex, that's it_

_I ~~don't~~ ~~didn't~~ don't want to be weak.  I don't want to need things ~~what right do I have to need anything from you~~ and you don't just tell Dad 'Hey, it was scary when that werewolf jumped me, I need a hug,' get the fuck over it ~~go check on Sam~~ (ignore that, he didn’t have it easy either)_

_never closer to somebody than sex and I couldn't get that anywhere else_

_Mom touched for no reason, the way you do, no one's done it since her until you_

_I don't know how to do this_

_I don't see how you could want just me ~~when I have nothing to offer you~~ ~~All I do is fail the people I~~_

_Tell me how to make this good for you.  Tell me what I can give you so I can earn what you're giving me._

_Tell me how to be enough._

 

When Dean and Sam return, Castiel is politely greeting Sam and walking up to Dean and tugging him into a long, firm kiss before they have closed the door behind them.  Dean reels for only a moment before relaxing, dropping his bag and fitting his hands to Castiel’s hips while Sam coughs loudly and retreats to his room.

Pulling back, Castiel whispers, “Hello, Dean.”

 

6.

He tries to be truthful with Dean about how it feels.  They have been talking for a long while (with only two instances of being interrupted by Sam shouting, ‘ _Lois!_ ’ from down the hall, apparently not eavesdropping but still able to hear Dean’s tone), and Castiel’s emotions have been inconsistent.  The ebb and flow of his gratitude versus his uncertainty is at a low point.

“There are times,” he says into Dean’s sternum, his face hidden under Dean’s chin, “that I wonder if something went wrong.  If I damaged my vessel, or myself.  But this is how I have always been.”  Dean rubs his back, and Castiel inhales the smell of their laundry detergent.  “Perhaps you’re wrong.  Perhaps I truly am just...broken.”

Dean is quiet for a long moment before he murmurs, “Answer me something.”  Castiel waits, and Dean asks, “Did your Dad ever create broken things?”

The breath is stolen from Castiel’s human lungs, and he slowly lifts his head.  Dean looks back, and his face says that he has an answer of his own.  Castiel notices his eyes stinging before he notices that they are wet.

“I love you,” he says, because nothing is truer in creation.

He only catches the surprise crossing Dean’s face before he’s tucking himself against his side again, Dean’s chest rising and falling under his palm while his heartbeat slightly accelerates.  A moment, and Dean’s fingers curl around his.

Twelve heartbeats later, Dean whispers, “Love you, too, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Castiel whispers back, for his question and for his love.  Dean kisses the top of his head, and Castiel is warm, and he is content, and he is unbroken.

 

7.

He tries to take his time in replying to Dean’s page, even though Dean has told him he doesn’t need to do anything about it.  It’s rare for Dean to speak of his past, his reasons, his insecurities and his fears, and so responding to this show of trust requires the utmost thought and care, no matter how few words it ultimately requires.

In the meantime, Dean takes him on a date.

Castiel was mildly concerned about the implications of this, as he has seen on the television what generally happens on dates, and he thought he and Dean were nearing a point of mutual understanding.  Dean bumped his shoulder and told him not to look so scared.

Castiel is no longer concerned.  His concern vanished when they arrived at the park, and Dean opened the Impala’s trunk and pulled out a kite.

It is not the same park, and it is not the same kite, but Dean takes him to a quiet, grassy patch and they make it fly.  Castiel holds the spool and watches the vibrantly purple diamond dance, and he remembers when Heaven was beautiful.

Dean’s arms wind around his front, and his chest is solid against Castiel’s back.  “You were telling me about your favorite Heaven before I screwed it all up,” he murmurs by Castiel’s ear, warmth overwhelming the note of regret.  “Thought something decent could still come out of it.”

Castiel holds up the spool until Dean takes one end, and he lifts his hand to Dean’s head to pull it gently against his own.  Dean’s eyelashes brush Castiel’s temple when he closes his eyes.  They don’t move or speak for a long while.

 

8.

He tries not to hover, but once he has set Dean’s page conspicuously in his room, he finds that hovering is all he seems to remember how to do.  He hovered at Dean’s elbow in the kitchen (and then under Dean’s arm, smiling as Dean hummed under his breath and stirred the pot idly, easily), and he hovered unconvincingly before the library shelves when Dean’s footsteps moved toward his room, and he hovers in the bedroom doorway now, unseen, as Dean sits silently in his desk chair with the page in his hand.

Dean has not moved in seven minutes but for the quiet cycle of his breath.  Not for the first time, Castiel worries that responding to the note was too much.  Dean is fiercely protective of his privacy, and fiercely ashamed of the pieces of himself that he chooses not to show.  Even the few lines he wrote and shared were a display of monumental trust.  There were not very many correct responses to such a display.  It was unlikely that Castiel would be the one to find them.

He mulled over them long enough that he knows each line by heart:

 

_Ok don’t expect much, I’m shit at this._

**_Thank you for trying, even if you weren’t feeling confident._ **

_touch is hard_

_it's ~~always~~ been for a purpose ~~since everyone stopped~~ since Mom_

_reward for good behavior, or for not-dying-but-almost, or as a stepping stone to sex, that's it_

**_I’m sorry this has been your experience._ **

_I ~~don't~~ ~~didn't~~ don't want to be weak.  I don't want to need things ~~what right do I have to need anything from you~~ and you don't just tell Dad 'Hey, it was scary when that werewolf jumped me, I need a hug,' get the fuck over it ~~go check on Sam~~ (ignore that, he didn’t have it easy either)_

**_Desiring a physical connection is not weakness. He should not have treated you that way._ **

_never closer to somebody than sex and I couldn't get that anywhere else_

**_Now you can.  I see how that could be jarring.  Do you feel that we can’t be truly close to each other unless sex is involved?  Are you afraid that I will leave you if we don’t “seal the deal?” (I hope that is a correct euphemism.  I found it on the internet.)_ **

_Mom touched for no reason, the way you do, no one's done it since her until you_

**_I believe she was a remarkable woman, but her behavior should not be seen as such.  You deserve that care, Dean.  You deserve to be treated well._ **

_I don't know how to do this_

**_Neither do I._ **

_I don't see how you could want just me ~~when I have nothing to offer you~~ ~~All I do is fail the people I~~_

**_“Just you” is the exact summation of what I want. Offer me time with the person you are afraid to be out loud, because that person is radiant. We have failed each other before, and we likely will again, and I will love you still._ **

_Tell me how to make this good for you.  Tell me what I can give you so I can earn what you're giving me._

**_You don’t need to earn what I give to you freely. Sharing in this piece of your past and the makeup of the world as you see it is an infinitely higher honor to me than the physical pleasures you have offered.  This is the way in which I would prefer to be intimate with you, and I understand that it is far more difficult for you than the physical intimacy that comes to you naturally.  I will be patient with you as you are patient with me.  I will not pressure you to bare the expanse of your soul, but know that I have held that soul in my hands, and no matter the state it is in, I will never turn away from it._ **

_Tell me how to be enough._

**_You are so much more._ **

 

Dean rubs his hand over his mouth, and Castiel animates with him.  Crossing the room, he tentatively lays a hand on his shoulder.  “If it’s too much--”

Silently, Dean grips Castiel’s wrist and pulls it across himself.  He holds onto Castiel’s arm with both hands, restlessly at first, and then tightly, bowing his head against it like it’s something precious.  Castiel can’t see his face, and Dean isn’t showing it to him, but he isn’t letting go.

When Castiel wraps his other arm around Dean’s front as well, Dean shifts with him and keeps holding on, his breath warm and deliberate through Castiel’s sleeves.

“What I,” Dean starts, but his voice fails.  He clears it loudly, but his words are still a whisper.  “What I didn’t write was that this scares the shit out of me.”

“What does?” Castiel asks, muffled in Dean’s hair.

“This.  Being okay with this.  With you wanting to stay, without it having anything to do with...if I’m okay with that, it’s like saying I deserve it,” Dean murmurs, shaking his head a little.  “I don’t.”

“You deserve to know that you are loved,” Castiel tells him.  “You deserve to be happy.  What those things look like is different for you than for me, in some ways.  But--”

Dean is shaking his head, squeezing Castiel’s arms.  “Cas, it’s not about the sex, okay?  Yeah, I like it, it means something to me, I still think about it at freaking inconvenient times, but I can deal with that.  Slowed down some since before.”

“Before what?”

Dean tilts his head back, giving him a sliver of eye contact.  “Guess.”

Castiel kisses his forehead, and Dean closes his eyes.  “Then tell me what it is about.”

He spends some time chewing on words before quietly answering, “It’s about you being the best damn thing that ever happened to me. And whenever I get something that good, it’s either not real, or it’s real temporary.”  He takes a deep breath.  “Sex is one thing, but the rest of it.  What you want.  It’s...I’m gonna get used to it.  And if it ends up gone again, I’m not gonna handle it.  I can tell.  I got nothing left to handle that happening again.”

Castiel squeezes his shoulders.  “Since we met - counting the day we met.  You and I have been separated countless times.  Somehow, the universe keeps returning you to me, and me to you.”  He presses his lips to the top of Dean’s head.  “I’m beginning to wonder if my Father has perhaps been making a point.”

Dean huffs a laugh, takes Castiel’s fingers and kisses them, and Castiel continues, “I can’t take away your fear, and I will not force you to do anything you’re not ready to do.  All I will ask of you is that you try.  And I will try to open to you in the ways that matter to you, as well.”

Gripping his hand, Dean shakes his head.  “Told you.  You don’t need to try.  My problem...I didn’t always have it.  I went four years not having it.  What you’ve got isn’t a problem.  It’s just you.”  Almost inaudibly, because this is difficult for him and he is trying already, he adds, “That’s all I want from you, too, okay?”

Castiel smiles.

 

9.

He tries to remember what ‘broken’ feels like.  Then he stops trying.

He is wingless and fatherless, reborn and remade, wanted and loved.  Occasionally, he is Superman.  Always, he is Dean's.  Always, he is himself.  His own.

He is not broken.


End file.
